Ol' Betsy

Ol’ Betsy

“Ol’ Betsy,” that’s what Daddy called her:

His ‘49 Ford pickup truck.

Dark green body and standard shift,

We rode ‘round town without a miss.

Far from home we would travel,

Dad and Mom and me and Brother.

Arriving in a stately fashion--

We followed the jobs of Daddy’s union

Remember camping under a tall oak tree?

And swimming in the creek?

Ol’ Betsy became our bed that night.

Remember the stars?  Remember the quiet?

Remember the haunted house and the apple tree?

Remember the screech owl we couldn’t see?

We were convinced it was a mountain lion!

Remember sleeping on the floor,

As down the road Ol’ Betsy roared?

Remember smells of oil?

Of windshield wipers flapping?

And Ol’ Betsy’s headlights shining down the road

Showing Daddy which way to go?

Do you remember these things, Brother?

Or have you gotten much too old?

Ol’ Betsy and you are the same age, you know!

Remember your dear, sweet, YOUNGER sister?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BROTHER!  I LOVE YOU!

February 26, 1996 (c)

Four-yr-old David in his peddle car next to Ol' Betsy